


It's not the Song (it is the Singing)

by SleepingReader



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Because who else - Freeform, Fictional Religion & Theology, Getting Together, Good Omens God, Inspired by a Hozier Song, M/M, POV God, Theology, Voice Of God
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 19:47:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20140999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingReader/pseuds/SleepingReader
Summary: Oh my darling creation, She thinks as she looks down upon the angel looking at the demon in a small kitchenette in Soho.They are laughing together. Wine is poured freely, both into the stew and into their glasses. They’re getting tipsy, but it doesn’t matter. They’re on no side but their own. They can get tipsy, get sober again and get raging drunk, for they know there will be a tomorrow.The demon seems to be on a rant. What it’s about, She will never listen to. She knows it’s good to watch children at play, provided you stay outside of hearing-range.And these are, for all intents and purposes, Her Children.The angel is leaning in somewhat, his attention rapt on the demon. And for a moment it seems they are going to kiss.But then they break into song together.She can hear it. She can’t help but, they’re quite loud. Bot of them singing something else, the demon drunkenly singing Don Giovanni, the angel belting out Bohemian Rhapsody.And it sounds exactly like it’s meant to be.And She smiles.





	It's not the Song (it is the Singing)

**Oh my darling creation,** She thinks as she looks down upon the angel looking at the demon in a small kitchenette in Soho.  
They are laughing together. Wine is poured freely, both into the stew and into their glasses. They’re getting tipsy, but it doesn’t matter. They’re on no side but their own. They can get tipsy, get sober again and get raging drunk, for they know there will be a tomorrow.  
The demon seems to be on a rant. What it’s about, She will never listen to. She knows it’s good to watch children at play, provided you stay outside of hearing-range.  
And these are, for all intents and purposes, Her Children.  
The angel is leaning in somewhat, his attention rapt on the demon. And for a moment it seems they are going to kiss.

But then they break into song together.  
She can hear it. She can’t help but, they’re quite loud. Bot of them singing something else, the demon drunkenly singing Don Giovanni, the angel belting out Bohemian Rhapsody.  
And it sounds exactly like it’s meant to be.  
And She smiles.  
They take each other's hands and they twirl, for just a second. A dance that’s been going on for 6000 years. And some time before that, if you ask Her.  
Some would say that She would want to Do Something about an angel and a demon getting so close. Some would say it is a Scandal. Some would retaliate, and say she won’t do anything because it’s Love.  
They’re all wrong.  
She won’t do anything because she is as old as the universe itself. The fleeting blinks of humans are nothing. The hour in Her Time that these two have been courting is just an interesting play to watch for a while. She is ancient. Infallible, Ineffable. And her Children, small and big, are just a tiny pinprick of a grand game that takes place in the Everywhere. The angel and the demon a small thread in the spool of Her wheel.  
But a nicely coloured one, certainly.  
She listens closely, for the first time, to their ending song.  
The demon sings, softly and slightly off-key, but in impeccable Italian:

_‘E noi tutti, o buona gente,_   
_ ripetiam allegramente_   
_ l'antichissima canzon.’_

And then the angel, with practised voice and harmony that could be described as Celestial, trills off the final line.  
_‘Anywhere the wind blows…’_

She Blinks, and they’ve kissed.  
She Listens, and they blame it on the wine. They blame it on the song.  
She Smiles. Not the grin she uses on the universe in her Ineffable game of Poker, but a kinder smile. The sort of smile that builds a Garden. 

**Oh my dearest creations,** She thinks.  
**Don’t you know it’s never been the song that matters?**


End file.
